Title: The Lost Heir
Summary: Hiccup goes through with his plan to run away, leaving behind no loose ends… or so he believes. After discovering the Nest, then fleeing north, Hiccup builds a utopia at the Dragon Sanctuary, working towards his ultimate goal: destroying the Queen. But no good deed goes unpunished and ghosts from his past are destined to resurface.
Recap: Valka and Hiccup showed the Berkians the Bewilderbeast thinking it might provide solid evidence of bigger players in the war. Stoick was stubborn as ever, refusing to let this shake his worldview, but Gobber may be starting to believe. Meanwhile, Astrid finally pays a visit to the botanical gardens...
Chapter Six: The Truth
H is alive! H is alive, and has a—
—Astrid gasps and scuttles back. "Don't freak out… but there's a terror on your shoulder," she tells him. "Hold still—I'll get it." Her fingers go for her axe handle but then she remembers it was confiscated before they were thrown in the dungeons, and makes a fist instead. Astrid wonders how H can be so calm—trust, maybe?
The terror hisses and curls itself around H's collar. Any second now it's going to bite him, she thinks. Why isn't he scared? Dragons are Viking's natural enemies!
She swings but H stops her hand before she can land a hit.
"What?—Oh! Oh, this is Mouse. He won't hurt you," H assures her.
"It's a dragon, H. It's not a spider; it's not more afraid of you than you are of it," says Astrid, not peeling her gaze away from the little green beast.
But she's forgetting H is not a Viking.
He laughs. "This is Ísfjall, Astrid. Look around."
Reluctantly, she takes her eyes off the terror to see what he means. There are nearly as many dragons as people out now. She didn't notice before, but the dragons seem to steer clear of the narrower tunnels, where the botanical gardens are found, and any dragons passing overhead on the ferry ride were too far out of range to get Astrid's heart racing. But now they're everywhere.
A zippleback waltzes past on her left; a nadder stomps by on her right. And then Astrid does something she's really not proud of.
In her defence, she's unarmed and trapped by H's hand still covering her balled fist—but those aren't the only reasons she flinches and turns her face into H's chest. She's Fearless Finn Hofferson's niece, for Thor's sake—she doesn't need anyone else's protection! Astrid thinks it can't get any worse as Ruff's raspy voice floats through her head, causing further embarrassment—
… I think I hear wedding bells…
—And then it does get worse. Much worse.
"Skuf! Over here! I've found her!"
Astrid and H spring apart, twin blushes staining their cheeks.
It's Naddod. He sprints over before addressing her, still out of breath and bending over with his hands planted on his thighs. "Miss Astrid *huff* you can't run off like that! We're *huff* supposed to keep you in sight *wheeze* at all times." He sounds less angry and more distressed. If Naddod keeps on being so infuriatingly polite, Astrid might start tolerating him.
Skuf appears at his side a few moments later. He's wearing a strange look, but Astrid doesn't think he's cross with her either. Instead, he elbows Naddod urgently in the ribs. Naddod glances briefly up, then does a sudden double-take. Both he and Skuf go ramrod-straight and perform the Ísfjallan salute.
"Sir! I can explain—" Naddod starts, before shutting his mouth abruptly without finishing.
Astrid looks back at H just in time to catch him frantically making a throat-slitting signal at Skuf and Naddod, then—realising Astrid's eyes are on him—shoots her a guilty look—the kind her cousin wears when he gets caught with his hand in the biscuit tin—and a painfully familiar, crooked smile.
For a moment, the three men are locked in an exchange of puzzled looks, pleading eyes and a few conspiratorial winks, until they appear to be (mostly) on the same page.
Before she can put the maelstrom of questions in her head into words, H is already talking.
"Hey, 'Dod, Skuf," says H, feigning casual. "You remember me, H, jack-of-all-trades, master of none, right?" he asks, emphasizing weird parts of his strangely-worded introduction.
"You bet!" says Skuf, looking as though he isn't entirely sure what he's agreeing with, but not letting that get in the way of his enthusiasm.
"I guess everyone's heard about my little escapade with that darn night fury and the Dragon Master's prize ship, huh?" H doesn't sound particularly remorseful and ploughs on with unwarranted confidence. "Well, it's funny you should mention that—"
But they hadn't—he did! This feels like some forced segue into what H is getting at, thinks Astrid.
"—because I see you've met my partner in crime," he finishes.
She sends him a panicked glare for saying something so incriminating so carelessly, which is returned with equal fire by the terror still perched on H's shoulder.
Something seems to click, at least for Skuf—for Naddod, it takes a beat longer. Astrid thinks they've realised she's wanted for crimes against the city, but neither moves to apprehend her.
"Yes—she asked for an escort to the botanical gardens," affirms Skuf.
Astrid mentally scoffs at how complaint they're making her sound—she'd sooner go alone or, better still, be done with this city entirely. She's only following their rules because she wants to keep her tribe safe… and maybe find out what happened to Hiccup, if there's anything to find out, that is.
"She was looking for someone—a herbalist, we think," puts in Naddod.
Astrid bristles. "She can speak for herself," she asserts, folding her arms. "This is who I was looking for," she says, gesturing to H. "And he has some serious explaining to do."
"I do?" She fixes him with an incredulous glare. "I mean, yes. I do," he says, not framing it as a question this time. "Can you give us a moment?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Take as long as you need, Sir," Naddod says, and Astrid can tell he's about to salute again, but Skuf awkwardly pulls him into a bear hug as a poor cover-up. H winces—partly because a hug from Skuf probably wouldn't be too dissimilar from being hugged by an actual bear, and partly because of the suspiciousness of it all, which he must know she can sense.
Skuf and Naddod give H and Astrid space. A lot of it—and Astrid wonders what happened to We're supposed to keep you in sight at all times, Miss Astrid or You can't run off like that, Miss Astrid? Not that she's complaining, it's just… weird.
With one final glance at her escorts—now engaged in a hushed, but very animated debate—she rounds on H.
"You're. Not. Dead," she accuses. Each word is punctuated by Astrid's famous right-hook.
"Um… Sorry?"
"I wasn't finished. You're not dead." Punch. "You let me think you were." Punch. "And now you've got that creature with you like it's no big deal." Punch, punch. "Like I said, you've got some explaining to do."
H rubs his upper arm, sharing a disbelieving look with the terror. "I didn't know you would think I died," he defends lamely.
"What was I supposed to think!? He caught you, H. The last time I saw you, the Dragon Master's night fury was about to kill you! How are you not dead? What aren't you telling me?"
His face reads, a lot of things, and Astrid takes a step back, finally pulling her hand free of his grasp. He looks stung, but he deserves it.
"I know you're not the herbalist," she adds, watching him squirm. "Who are you? Start talking."
"The truth is…" he begins, searching her face for… something. Then he looks to his feet and sighs, resigned. "The truth is… I'm the village screw-up. I can't do anything right; I'm always causing trouble for everyone else. What you saw on the docks wasn't what it looked like—it was a fake-out, supposed to scare me into becoming a model citizen. But I really was in trouble for pulling a stunt like that. Did you know we stranded four ferrymen in the plaza?"
The village screw-up, huh? Just like Hiccup used to be—except here, not fitting in might just be what it takes for Astrid to see past his citizenship and perhaps even consider H a friend. The rest… seems far-fetched, but what reason does H have for lying?
"We? Don't blame me—that was all your idea!" Astrid can't stop the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth—H has an intoxicating smile, even when she's mad at him, and his ability to flip a serious situation is unparalleled.
"So… friends?"
Friends… She knows as soon as the word leaves his lips that they can't be anything more than once-partners-in-crime. Her tribe kills dragons and his befriends them; she's a hostage and he's a nobody—stuck on opposite sides of the War. This is where they go their separate ways. Best make sure he knows it too.
"I think that spot's already been taken, dragon friend," she declines, letting her smile slip and nodding to his reptilian companion.
"Jealous, are we?" H asks, scratching his terror under its chin.
"Of that thing? Please," she snorts.
"That thing has a name," H says pointedly. "Relax—Mouse wouldn't hurt, well, a mouse. See, he was supposed to be a mouser-dragon on incoming trade vessels, but he was so timid that they promoted him to be my mother's lap dragon and had to change his name. He's on loan for tonight," he explains.
"Why?" Astrid asks. The terror licks its eyeball unintelligently. As dragons go, this one looks docile enough, but she can't see why H would be carrying him around.
"To meet you, of course," H replies.
"Me? How did you know I was going to be here?"
"I... heard you were in the city—I thought you might try to find me. But I would've been at the gardens every day if that's what it took," he answers earnestly. "Why would you come at all if you thought the Dragon Master killed me?" H questions.
"He told me I was wrong."
"And you wanted to be?"
"Gods, why does everyone keep asking me that!?" Astrid says explosively. "Yes! Alright? I wanted you to be alive! I wanted you to come back to Berk with me that night on the docks too!"
Her outburst turns more than a few heads—human and dragon alike—but she doesn't care that she's making a scene. He deserves to know she cares what happened to him, even if they can't be friends.
H looks stunned. "Even though I'm Ísfjallan? Even though I don't hate dragons?"
Her eyes flit back to the terror. It doesn't look dangerous or evil and even Astrid has to admit she doesn't hate this dragon. But she wouldn't call it cute, and she definitely wouldn't pet it. "I don't know! Can I just… not know?" she asks, struggling to keep hold of her temper.
H is a good person—he wouldn't have helped her escape the city with the cures if he wasn't. But he's wrong about dragons and a traitor to Vikings. Stoick might never trust her again if he found out she was consorting with the enemy. She doesn't know where that leaves them… only that she doesn't want this to be the last time she ever sees H.
"...That's good enough for me," says H. "I'll take it."
Astrid blinks. "Really?"
"Really. You don't have to have all the answers—no one does. But so long as we've established you don't want me dead, would you be averse to spending the afternoon with me...?" H invites.
Is that an option? Can the two of them exist like this—in limbo—for as long as she's in Ísfjall, like standing in the eye of a hurricane—both friends and, at the same time, belonging to opposite sides? It feels too good to be true, but maybe it's worth the risk.
...Maybe she can even get H to see things her way. Maybe their friendship can have longevity after all.
"What about my escorts?" It's not a yes, but H's bright smile says otherwise.
"I might be able to bend their ears," he answers easily.
"This I have to see," Astrid smirks.
If anything he's just told her is true—about him being trouble—Skuf and Naddod will laugh him down, or at the very least insist on chaperoning. But that's still better than nothing.
They wander over to where Skuf and Naddod are standing—off to the side and out of the flow of foot traffic. Both are trying to hide the fact they were intently watching the entire conversation—not that Astrid expected privacy anyway; they're only doing their job, so she doesn't get why they look so guilty about being caught staring.
"So… I'll be taking the lady off your hands for the rest of the day. Is that cool?" H checks, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets as if it really is no big deal.
Here it comes…
"Sure thing."
"Got it—we'll head on back to our post."
Astrid's jaw drops. H turns back to her with a face that says problem solved, but quickly morphs into something else when he takes in her floored expression.
"Okay! Are you ready? Because we should really get going before they change their minds," H tries to distract when she doesn't say anything, but the guards have already left for the apartment and that looks unlikely.
"Not so fast—how did you get them to agree just like that!?"
H flounders. "My charismatic charm?"
Astrid lifts a brow, unconvinced.
"Hey, don't look a gift yak in the mouth," says H with a shrug. "You coming or what?"
She feels as she did that night on the castellations, right before he flung her off, and she knows saying yes will be like falling all over again. But this time it's her choice, and it comes alarmingly easy.
"Fine—but this time we stay dry!"
She doesn't think to ask where they're going, or what H wants to do with their time—it's his city and she's content to let him take the lead.
"I make no such promise!"
...Well, mostly content.
Fishlegs—for want of something better to do—has been gazing out the kitchen window since Astrid left for her walk. It's now late in the afternoon and the others are beyond stir crazy, but Fishlegs sits patiently, just watching the foreign world go by.
He watches citizens come and go from their homes, sometimes taking ferries, sometimes on foot—across the stilted walkways and over little humpback bridges—and occasionally, on dragons. The wind would pick up the still air and send it away in great gusts, then out of nowhere these huge, reptilian shapes descend from the sky, with tiny human riders guiding them down to land. It's incredible—scary, too—but Fishlegs can't look away.
He wants to go home. He doesn't want to take part in training tomorrow—he barely survived regular, Berkian training and now he's up against crazy-intense Ísfjallan training that threatens the Viking way of life but has to be completed before he ever sees his homeland again. If he ever sees home again.
Trying to rationalise this madness is getting him nowhere. His only solace is his friends. He knows their only hope of outmanoeuvring the Dragon Master is if they stick together—but they're already short one resourceful leader.
Fishlegs is the first to notice when the two guards meant to be escorting Astrid return, and he's also the first to realise she hasn't come back to the apartment along with them. The Dragon Master was very specific in his instruction that the Berkians aren't to be left unsupervised, so why are they not still with her? He tries to remain calm, but with no sign of Astrid, it's getting increasingly difficult.
"Guys… Those two guards are back, but I don't see Astrid anywhere," says Fishlegs warily.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut stop their wrestling match to join Fishlegs at the window and Snotlout elbows 'Legs aside.
"Lemme see!" he says.
"You don't think something happened to her, do you?" Fishlegs frets.
"This is Astrid, we're talking about. No one messes with her," Ruff assures, but even she looks concerned.
"Should we ask?" questions Fish.
"As if they'd tell us anything," Snotlout dismisses. "Can you hear what they're saying?"
"Ooh! Ooh! I can lip-read," Tuffnut claims. He clears his throat. "The Captain wants to know where Astrid is too... Now the big guy's saying she wanted to see the butter-knickers garland and that they left her with thirty gong blasters," Tuff translates. No one is impressed. "What? He has a beard!" he contests, maintaining that if he were clean-shaven, it would've been faultless.
"Ung… You're such a moron!" says Ruff, butting her brother out of the way.
"What do we do?" Fish panics. Garbled as it was, it doesn't sound like good news.
What if Astrid isn't brought back? What if she was fed to that thing in the throne room? Fishlegs can't stop catastrophizing and it's usually Astrid who brings him back around.
"I say we show them how we do things on Berk!" says Snotlout, punching his fist into his open palm.
Where is their voice of reason when they need her most? Will getting her back take such drastic measures? Fish thinks this can only end badly, but what other choice do they have? Astrid could be in danger at this very moment!
"I can't believe I'm saying this," says Fish nervously, "but I think Snotlout has the right idea. We'll need a plan to overpower all those guards, though. We can't just attack—"
"ATTACK!"
The twins and Snotlout rush the door, leaving Fishlegs to bring up the rear.
Fish sighs a long-suffering sigh. "Why do I even bother?"
Outtake
"I know you're not the herbalist," she adds, watching him squirm. "Who are you? Start talking."
"The truth is… I'm a tailor. Yep, I make outfits! I do dabble in a bit of medicine, but I was supposed to make the Dragon Master new riding leathers. I missed my deadline and he sicced his dragon on me." H shrugs.
"What a diva," Astrid remarks.
"I know, right?"
This is a reference to when Hiccup says "I'm through with the lies. I've been making... outfits." I couldn't think what he could say to keep his secret and this was all that was in my head.
A/N: I had you going with that chapter title, didn't I!? Sorry, but not just yet…
A special thanks to all my reviewers: Xivu, Silvolde, FullOfFaith, MarauderPrime12, CajunBear73, OechsnerC, ChiefHiccstrid561, Whiskerface, sup8pdct, dbfox007, Kacper983, AJ and guests. I can't believe the response this story is getting! I don't have a very detailed plan for this, like I usually do, but I'm enjoying having the freedom to be creative each week, so I hope you'll stick with me. Concrit is always welcome, as are suggestions, though I can't promise they'll be included.
Until next time!